Shadowboxing
by TheLostMaximoff
Summary: AUish. The biggest question for Tim Drake isn't why he's being framed for the murder of Batgirl. The biggest question is: What's Cassandra Cain doing with the League of Assassins? TimxCass fic.
1. Lights Out

Shadowboxing

By TheLostMaximoff

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. This is basically my take on the OYL storyline started in the new issue of Robin. I like the fact that Cass is in Tim's book, it makes the couple easier.

WARNING: I tried to stay as much in continuity as I could therefore there are spoilers for the end of Batgirl, Infinite Crisis #6, Robin #148, and possible spoilers for upcoming issues of Robin since this story is based on speculation and whatnot. You've been warned.

The first thing he noticed when the beating let up was that his R's, as he had taken to calling them, had stuck into something, something soft. Tim Drake opened his eyes and saw a limp body lying on the ground in front of him. To be more specific, it was Batgirl's limp body.

"No," whispered Robin as he immediately knelt and checked the body for a pulse. Finding none, Tim quickly yanked off the mask and stared into the eyes of someone who, thankfully, was _not_ Cassandra Cain. It was instead Lynx, a big Gotham crime boss. He breathed a small sigh of relief before he began checking over the body. There were stab wounds where his R's had struck but when Tim examined the costume he realized there was no Kevlar lining inside it.

"What?" asked Robin. He heard the wail of sirens. This wasn't going to be pretty. Robin turned to slip away and felt a blinding light pierce his eyes. The lenses in his mask automatically began adjusting themselves. He wished they hadn't. He didn't exactly want to see how much trouble he was in.

"Freeze!" ordered the police officer, "Hands in the air and down on your knees!" Robin admired the cop for not granting him any special favors just because he was a local celebrity. However, Tim wasn't going to roll over and let someone get away with framing him.

"Man, first Nightwing and now you," said one cop. Dick was killing people? Tim knew he would have to mull that one over some other time. Currently, he had to get away and figure out what was going on.

"Sorry," whispered Robin as he shot a grappling line upwards, catching it on a building and hoisting himself into the shadows. A few cops squeezed off some rounds but none of them hit Tim. Tim could've dealt with that. At least getting shot came with the territory.

"Cass," whispered Robin as he made his way back to Wayne Manor, "Where are you?" He had spent a year in Budapest with Dick and Bruce. They had gotten their act together. But he had received a note telling him that Cassandra Cain, Batgirl and someone he loved as a sister, was in danger. He never told the others and instead simply left on his own. Now this had happened. Did it mean Cass was already dead? Was he too late to save another person he loved? No. He was a detective. He had to know the truth. Whether she was alive or dead, Tim had to know the truth no matter the cost. He would have to sneak into police headquarters and get a coroner's report on the body. There was no way he could've killed her judging by the way rigor mortis had already started setting in.

XXXXX

She watched the display with mild amusement. Everything was proceeding as intended. She had merely wanted to see Tim's reaction when he had discovered the body. He had acted just as she would've expected him to act. In that respect, she was slightly disappointed. She was always right. She could read people like books, better than books, and she could always read between the lines. She was always right. He had never loved her. How could he have? It was stupid and naïve of her to expect it. The wind kicked at her purple dress, softly tugging on it as if it was a lover calling her to bed. She smiled and nodded, heeding that call and slipping back into the shadows, back into the only home she had now.

XXXXX

As far as the police were concerned, Batgirl was dead. That didn't faze Tim. That girl was _not_ Cassandra Cain and therefore that girl was _not_ Batgirl. It was a setup straight from the word "Go". It was obvious but only to him because he knew who Batgirl really was. Had this whole charade been meant specifically for him? Was the real Batgirl dead already, buried in some God-forsaken piece of ground who knew where? No, he couldn't accept that. He refused to accept that. Tim pulled the letter out of a pocket in his belt. He had run a few tests on the handwriting but the world-famous Bat-computer had turned up nothing. This meant, to Tim at least, that they were dealing with a pro and a pro that they had never come across before.

"Couldn't have happened," muttered Tim as he stared around his new apartment that they had created from some of the stables on the manor's grounds. Lynx's body had been dead for at least a few hours before his R's struck. Any coroner would be able to correctly place the time of death. Unless, of course, the coroner was on the killer's payroll and could falsify an autopsy report. That would mean the killer was someone with influence or worked for someone with influence. At least he had something to go on.

"I heard about it on the police channel." Tim turned to see Bruce Wayne standing in his doorway. He was decked out in his full Batman regalia save that the cowl was pulled back to reveal his face. Tim watched him approach and noticed the traces of something he hadn't seen in Bruce Wayne's eyes for what seemed like forever. Genuine concern from Batman.

"It was Lynx," informed Tim flatly, "You know she wasn't Cass and you know I didn't kill her."

"I know," replied Bruce, "It's a setup." They had worked on building trust. That was what the year in Budapest had been about. But they left Cass behind. They had tried to look for her but she had disappeared.

"I can call Gordon," assured Batman, "We have that other case to work on but whatever you need from me . . .."

"This one's mine," stated Robin, "Thanks for the offer, Bruce, but I have to take this one alone." The note he received was addressed to Tim Drake. The frame job was meant for Robin. This was his case and his alone. He knew the killer wanted it that way. He also realized the killer must know his real identity.

"Whatever help you need," reminded Bruce.

"Thanks," replied Tim. Bruce trusted him now, really trusted him. Things were finally starting to look up. He had to find Cass though. His parents, Stephanie, Conner, all of them were gone now. He refused to lose Cass too. Being a detective was about imposing order and reason on a world that seemingly had none. You had to _make_ the world make sense. Well in Tim Drake's view, the world needed to make some sense again and he needed to find Cass in order for it to do so.

"All units," crackled a voice over a police band, "break-in at S.T.A.R. Labs facility on the outskirts of the city."

"Go," ordered Batman as he slipped on his cowl, "I've got to meet with Gordon about the other case." Robin nodded and moved towards his bike. It was going to be a very long night tonight.

XXXXX

She still had on the purple dress. Oddly enough, it was a dress her mother wore often. She marveled that it seemed to fit her perfectly. It was almost as if the dress knew her destiny, knew that she was meant to become her mother. No, not _just_ her mother. Mother and father, a perfect mix. She would be better than either of them alone. She had killer's blood in her veins, blood born from the union of two perfect killers. This was her destiny, her heritage.

"I have an assignment for you," she told the man in front of her. His costume was bright yellow, incredibly gaudy even with the top off. She had taken many attempts to reeducate him, to teach him to become what she referred to as "colorblind". Those attempts had met with moderate success. The man before her simply nodded from his position on his knees. One of her retraining methods had just taken its toll on him. The cuts were still fresh as she scanned his bare chest. There were scars from other beatings as well, lessons well-learned and ones she hoped he wouldn't forget.

"Go to the S.T.A.R. Labs place," she instructed, "Lure him out so I can see him."

"What do I steal?" asked the man. The sting of her hand across his face made him wince.

"Theft is not your mission," she told him, "Your mission is to make him come to us."

"Yes, Miss Cain," said Shrike.

"I will confront him first," assured Cassandra Cain, "After I've seen enough then he is yours."

"Yes, Miss Cain," repeated Shrike as he stood on battered legs, bowing to his employer and turning to leave. Cassandra turned to stare out the window of her office. He would come. Batman was busy with other things. He would could instead. She wondered if Tim had missed her in that long year. She knew he had been in Budapest. She herself had been everywhere, recruiting and collecting the pieces of her legacy. There was no Batgirl anymore. There was just a young woman named Cain. The trip into the Lazarus Pit and the fight with Shiva had made her completely aware of her legacy. Pain, suffering, death. She ran from it that night when she was eight years old. But eventually, legacy catches up to you in the end. The blood pumping in your veins owned you body and soul. When you had killer's blood, you had a killer's soul. You couldn't run from that.

"He will come," said Cassandra Cain, as if reassuring herself, "and he will die like everyone else."

XXXXX

The whine of the cycle was incessant and demanding. Robin knew it was eager to get some action. Truthfully, Tim knew he wouldn't mind some action either. The latest development in his life left him wondering just who was in the shadows pulling the strings. Whoever it was, he wanted them to step out and face him. He used the shadows, yes, but he didn't prefer them when it came to confrontation. Darkness was a weapon but not his home.

"Alright," said Robin to himself as he parked the bike and quickly scanned the area. There was only silence, too much silence. These weren't common criminals. Common criminals made noise when they took things. They thumped about and made themselves well known. These were pros. Robin quietly pulled out his staff and made his way to the front door. He rapped the end of his bo against the door before kicking it in and walking into the building. No sound was made in response to his entrance.

'_Definitely professionals'_, thought Tim.

"Tim." The voice was low but loud enough that he could pick it up. He knew that voice.

"Cass?" asked Robin as he looked around. It seemed so long since he'd heard her voice. They should've looked for her more. He needed her.

"Tim." The voice was somewhere else now, almost beckoning him to follow it.

"Cass, stop playing games," said Robin as he tried to find her, "Are you alright?" There was no response as he slowly began moving towards the direction of the voice. Where was she and what was going on? He heard noise coming from above. Maybe she was in trouble.

"Hang on," whispered Robin as he secured a grappling line and zipped up to a catwalk that ran around the large room. He knew it must be a testing room of some kind. It seemed the very important stuff was kept on a higher level.

"Tim." He knew where she was going now. She was going to the roof. Maybe the thieves were escaping. Maybe her language problem had somehow worsened and she couldn't tell him everything. Or possibly, it was some kind of trap set up by whoever framed him. Robin cautiously made his way through the roof hatch and felt the cool night air envelop him once more. He had become increasingly thankful for warmth after seeing what winter in Budapest was like. He surveyed the rooftop and saw her standing at one edge and gazing into the night. That purple dress looked beautiful on her, doing everything to show him the tone and curve of every muscle. She looked as beautiful as he remembered her looking.

"Cass?" said Robin in a low voice, "Where're the goons? You take care of them already?" She turned but did not respond. He relaxed his senses as he approached her, maintaining his guard but not fully. This was Cassandra Cain. She could've killed him by now if she wanted to.

"Can you talk?" asked Robin. He was so close to her now. He wanted to sweep her into his arms and give her the most passionate kiss ever. He had missed her so much. So many nights he had longed to see her smile again or feel her touch. He was so wrong for giving up on finding her.

"Say something," pleaded Robin. Cass responded in a very Cass-like manner: she acted. Robin felt the blow across his jaw as she backhanded him. It felt familiar, like he had experienced it not too long ago. It wasn't the same love tap-style blow she used to hit him with while they were sparring. This was the real thing.

"Cass?" asked Robin as he touched his jaw. There was a flicker of regret in her eyes and then out came her foot, quicker than a cobra striking at its prey. Robin managed to throw up a hand and block the kick, twisting his body sideways to get away from anything else that might be coming.

"Look, I know you're probably mad," said Robin as he ducked to avoid another roundhouse kick, "I tried to find you, Cass. I swear to God I looked everywhere I could." He was already formulating theories. Anger? Mind control? Evil clone? Robin felt her hand thump against his chest hard as she gave him a backfist. A kick hit him in the stomach. There was no quarter here. He had never seen her fight like this.

"Cass, listen," begged Robin. His bo deflected a punch but he felt her foot smash down into his kneecap. She knew everything he could do. This wasn't a fight he could win on physical prowess alone. Truthfully, this wasn't a fight he could win period.

"Fight," ordered Cassandra. Robin looked at his former partner in confusion. Cassandra smashed her palm into his jaw and knocked him onto his back.

"Fight," ordered Cassandra again.

"No," replied Robin, "I'm not gonna hurt you, Cass."

"Then die," assured Cassandra as she suddenly vanished into the shadows. Tim weakly stood up, testing his leg to make sure that blow to his kneecap hadn't crippled him.

"Cass, wait," called out Robin, "Cass, where are you?" A throwing blade sang through the air and Robin barely had time to dodge it.

"Miss Cain is busy right now," assured Shrike as he came into view with a sadistic grin on his face, "You'll have to settle for me instead." Miss Cain? Robin quickly readied himself as Shrike closed the gap between them. This was already a long night and something told him it was going to get even longer.

(Author's Note): More to come as the plot thickens.


	2. Dancing in Darkness

Shadowboxing (Part Two)

By TheLostMaximoff

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I love it when people review so R/R.

(Author's Note): Adrian Manheim is an OC I use for detective stories. Be nice to him, it's his firstpublic appearance.

Timknew he had to get away. The leg where Cass had hit him was a little wobbly. It definitely wasn't going to help him against the impending fight against Shrike. He watched as Shrike pulled out two long, curved daggers and ran towards him.

"Gimme a break," muttered Robin, "That's all I ask." He had been framed for murder and now he was out in the middle of nowhere about to die. What was the purpose? What was the grand master plan that Cass, seemingly the villain, had?

"I see you and Miss Cain got reacquainted," sneered Shrike as he slashed at Tim's throat with one dagger, "At least you'll have some pleasant memories before you go." Robin began deducing some things. First off was that Shrike talked too much and this was coming from someone who was friends with Dick Grayson. Second was that if Shrike was here then it was possible the League of Assassins was involved. That would be just the type of clout a killer would need to influence the right people and complete the frame job.

"Not as pleasant as the memories I'll have of wiping the floor with you," quipped Robin as he leaned back to avoid the swipe and sidestepped to his right as the end of Shrike's other dagger headed towards his stomach.

"You couldn't do it last time in Bludhaven, kid," reminded Shrike as his blades clanked off of Robin's staff, "You had to call in Little Miss Batgirl. Where's she now, huh?"

"That was an off-day," assured Robin as he jabbed Shrike in the gut with his staff and then kicked him in the face. He wondered if Cass had told the League everything. The note had been addressed to Tim Drake, not Robin. No, she couldn't have told them that much. If she had then the League would've already coordinated a strike and taken down the whole Bat-family. Plus it wasn't like their leader, Nyssa, didn't already know Batman's identity, assuming that Talia had told her.

"Haven't seen much of anything different this time," declared Shrike as Tim blocked a kick with his bo and felt the ground drop out from under him as Shrike tripped him. His leg really wasn't feeling very good right now.

"She had to soften me up for you?" asked Robin as he caught both daggers before they impaled him, "What a loser you must be."

"I'm the best, kid," snapped Shrike as he forced the blades closer and closer to connecting with Robin's skin. Tim inwardly cringed. He had to break the stalemate soon or else.

"Gimme a break," retorted Robin, "You're just a hired gun, muscle for money. People point you in a direction and you kill. I've seen the best and it's not you, not by a long shot." He grabbed Shrike's wrists and moved the killer's hands apart before ramming his head into Shrike's face. It wasn't a pretty move and it gave Tim a headache but it got the job done. Tim couldn't be sure but he thought he heard a breaking sound.

"Just like the old days, eh?" quipped Robin as he watched blood run down Shrike's face from his broken nose, "Remember when Nightwing used to do that?" Shrike muttered a curse as he popped the bone back into place so it could heal properly. Robin didn't wait for a comeback. There were police sirens in the distance and they were fast approaching. He was already wanted for murder. This wasn't going to help his case.

"We'll finish playing tag some other time," assured Robin as he turned and dove off the roof, letting his grappling line break his fall and swing him towards where he had parked his bike. He quickly hopped on and gunned the engine. It was just about then that the police showed up.

"Not again," muttered Robin as he wheeled the cycle around and rode towards the woods behind the facility. This was so not going to be fun.

"Halt!" ordered an officer and Robin heard the crack of a pistol. The shot missed him, not that it would've made a difference since his costume was bulletproof. He had to get a look at that costume that Lynx was in. Maybe he could find a contact in the department that could help him. Robin didn't have time to strategize properly as he jumped a barricade and headed down the bumpy hill that got him back onto the road. He heard at least one patrol car giving chase, maybe two.

"Car chases suck," muttered Robin as he sped back towards the city. He glanced in one of his side mirrors and noticed two cruisers behind him. The rest of them were probably locking down the crime scene. Was anything really stolen or was it just a way to get him out here? He couldn't tell. What he _could_ tell was that he was moving against the flow of traffic.

"Really suck," declared Robin as he skidded into a right turn and tried finding some road where he wouldn't feel like a salmon fighting upstream. Tim still heard the sirens. Why did people have to pull over for police cars? Couldn't Gothamites be more inconsiderate?

"Can't risk it," said Robin as he thought about calling for help. If Cass was working for the League of Assassins then they could possibly screw with everyone's communicators. At the very least, they could probably listen in and he couldn't risk revealing his position. He finally merged into a street where he wouldn't have to dodge so much. Robin sighed in relief as he weaved through traffic but the sirens were still behind him. He needed some way to lose them. Tim quickly scanned the area. It was then that he noticed he had a red light at the approaching intersection and that a large semi-truck was attempting to cross said intersection.

"Really hate 'em," muttered Robin, expressing once again his distaste for car chases. He had to time this correctly or he'd get run over. He turned sharply and sent the cycle into a power slide. He almost felt his body scrape against the pavement as he slid under the truck and came out on the other side.

"Wow, that was insane," huffed Robin as he exhaled the breath he was holding and righted the bike. He quickly sped off, making sure to weave through the city to shake potential followers. The two cruisers had already slammed on their breaks when they saw him pull his little James Bond impersonation. They wouldn't be giving him any more trouble. At least Tim could be glad about that.

XXXXXX

Detective Adrian Manheim wasn't the new kid on the block that everyone thought he was even if he had been working in Gotham for only a year. He had come to Gotham from Seattle where he had made something of a reputation there for being very good at what he did. However, Seattle wasn't exactly known for superheroes or crime-fighters although Green Arrow had a stint there some years ago.

"Doesn't look like anything's been taken," said one officer, "Just breaking and entering as far as I can tell." Manheim swept his flashlight around the empty building. This was no time of the night for a sane, normal man to be working. He thought about retirement and wondered if it could happen as early as his age of twenty-nine. He sincerely doubted it.

"Doesn't look like he was alone," mused Manheim as he studied the floor littered with broken glass, "Why would you bother to break a window if you had already forced the door open?" There was more going on here than they were being led to believe. Robin was the prime suspect in a high-profile murder investigation. Why traipse out here and cause more trouble with that already on his head?

"Have the CSI boys wipe this place clean," stated Manheim as he looked to the officer, "I want to know exactly what went on here." Manheim turned to exit the building and saw Commissioner Jim Gordon arrive.

"Pleasure, Jim," said Manheim as he greeted Gordon, "I'm afraid there's not that much to tell you though."

"Just humor an old man, Adrian," replied Gordon, "Think of it as an introduction into Gotham's colorful nightlife."

"Well, we got two parties from as near as I can tell," explained Manheim, "One comes through the window, the other through the front door. The boys only saw Robin at the scene when they pulled up. We've already lost him so there goes the easy way. What I'm wondering is why Robin would be out here and who else would be here with him."

"Trying to stop a break-in?" mused Gordon, "We did get that call earlier."

"That's what I'm thinking," agreed Manheim. Gordon nodded. It was business as usual for him. With this latest case coupled with the recent string of dead super-villains it was starting to feel more normal by the minute.

"I'd like to try and work on this Batgirl case," offered Manheim, "You know I've done good work here and up in Seattle."

"You've never dealt with costumes before though," reminded Gordon.

"I saw Green Arrow nab some bank-robbers once," said Manheim with a grin, "I didn't mention that on my application, Jim?" Gordon smirked and shook his head.

"If you think you're up for it then I can send you the files," offered Gordon, "God knows we could use some people stepping up what with all the stuff we've got going on lately."

"I'll look at the files first chance I can," assured Manheim, "How well do you know the Bat and his boys, Commissioner?"

"Well enough to know something's wrong with this whole thing," replied Gordon.

XXXXXX

Robin figured it was best to call it a night. He wheeled his bike into its space and then moved to his bedroom. He managed to get his cape, mask, and top off before collapsing onto his bed. He stared at the ceiling, visions of the fight flickering behind his eyes. He hadn't even gotten a hit on her. It was all he could've done to block her attacks. He felt like crying. Bad enough most of the people he loved were dead but now this. He couldn't remember the last time he cried. Perhaps it was when he heard that Stephanie was dead. Perhaps it was when he found his father's body. He couldn't remember anymore.

"I love you," whispered Tim Drake as he slipped into sleep, dreaming of Cassandra Cain in a gorgeous, purple dress, a dress that was soon stained with his blood.

XXXXXX

She had a routine. She used to perform it every morning upon waking up. In all her life, Cassandra Cain had only deviated from this routine twice. When she was Batgirl, she changed the ending of it so that she didn't have to practice a killing stroke. Now, she practiced the kill-shot and she did her routine before going to bed in addition to waking up.

The fight with Tim had gone as she had expected. His skills had improved in a year. There was more confidence in his stance, more assurance in his moves than when she had last seen him. She could tell he had been moving on. Good. It was best to forget old lives. Cassandra ended her routine in the manner she had done when she was a child, just as her father had taught her. She stared around the darkened room, taking solace in the shadows of the night. The Batman and his allies used darkness as a weapon, as a place of security from which to strike. In that aspect, they were no different than the members of the League of Assassins. The only thing different was who the two groups hunted and even then sometimes there wasn't a difference.

Cassandra Cain had come to learn some horrible truths about life. Perhaps it was leftover corrosion from the Lazarus Pit's chemicals or perhaps it was learning the final truth about her parentage, that Lady Shiva was her biological mother. But Cassandra had learned an ugly truth about life. Everybody dies. It didn't matter whether you were rich or poor, good or bad, innocent or guilty. Everyone died. For a long time, she believed she had done a horrible thing by killing that man. In order to make up for that, she had become Batgirl. But had she done any good? Night after night, she defended Gotham. But the world kept turning and people kept dying. No one could stop it.

'_Why does everyone I care about have to die?'_

'_Because you care about everyone, Cass . . . and everyone dies.'_

She remembered that while she was dead she met Stephanie. She remembered seeing Bludhaven burnt to the ground. She couldn't have stopped it if she had been there. She would've wound up as another casualty. She had no power to save lives. All she knew how to do was take them away.

"Everyone dies," whispered Cassandra Cain as she stared at a picture of Timothy Drake that was laying on her pillow. He knew the mantra as well as she did, perhaps better than she did. He had seen as much death as her. That's why she studied him so intently. She was searching for something in him, a potential. She wasn't quite sure she had seen it yet but she knew she would eventually.

"Everybody dies," repeated Cassandra Cain as she went to bed, "Especially me." She did not have pleasant dreams that night. She dreamt of wearing her mother's purple dress, the one that fit her so perfectly, and dying in Tim Drake's arms.

XXXXXX

The scrambled eggs and bacon were up to Alfred's usual standard of excellence but it wasn't doing much to help Tim's mood.

"Will you be going out tonight, Master Timothy?" asked Alfred as he took a seat at the kitchen table with Tim.

"I have to get into the police station," explained Tim as he took a sip of his orange juice, "I want to get a look at that costume."

"I must say I was quite shocked to hear of Miss Cassandra's reported demise," confessed Alfred. Tim nodded. In some sense, he didn't know which was worse. He couldn't live with himself if he had accidentally killed Cass. But now she had gone rogue and was planning God only knew what with the League of Assassins. That certainly wasn't helping him sleep well.

"It was Lynx," assured Tim, "Big mob boss. Guess someone wanted her out of the way." '_Someone like Cass.'_

"But it begs the question of where Miss Cassandra is," said Alfred. Tim took a very large gulp of his orange juice and tried to dislodge the lump in his throat. If he told Bruce about Cass, Bruce would take her down without hesitation. He would hate himself but he would do his job. But she would be charged with murder, more than one even. They would execute her and Tim . . . he couldn't bear thinking about that. He refused to give up on her. He refused to believe she was just another faceless criminal that he had to bring to swift and absolute justice. For God's sake, it was . . . it was Cass.

"I fought her last night," confessed Tim quietly, "Cass . . . I think she's gone rogue and is with the League of Assassins." Alfred stared at Tim in order to comprehend the magnitude of what the boy had said. He knew of Cass's background but he had seen her time and again rise above that and prove herself a hero.

"Please," whispered Tim, "You can't tell Bruce. If someone has to take her in . . . take her down . . . then I'll do it." Alfred stared into Tim's eyes. The boy had always been unsure if he had everything it took to fill the shoes of both Dick and Jason, to be worthy of being Robin. From what Alfred had seen the young man endure, Timothy Drake had more guts and heart than any of them.

"You suspect she has orchestrated the murder?" asked Alfred. Tim simply nodded.

"I've never seen her fight that way," said Tim, "She wanted to hurt me . . . badly."

"But not kill you," offered Alfred, "Perhaps we can at least be thankful for that, Master Timothy."

"I remember her first birthday," said Tim quietly, almost as if talking to himself, "None of us even knew when her birthday was. We just picked a date. That was a really good day. She was really happy that day."

"I remember at Christmas time, you and Miss Cassandra would practice your detective skills by guessing what was in the packages," replied Alfred with a soft smile, "You and she made this old house young again."

"I . . . I can't kill her," stated Tim as he tried to hold back a sob, "I'm gonna have to and I . . . I just can't."

"No one is asking you to do that," assured Alfred as he gripped Tim's hand, "All that is required is that you do your duty. She would do hers if the situation was reversed."

"I know," replied Tim as he steadied himself, "I just hope to God that it never comes to that."


	3. A Knight Fallen

Shadowboxing (Part Three)

By TheLostMaximoff

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Thanks for the reviews, guys. I wasn't sure how this was going to be received. Keep them coming.

If there was one thing that Detective Manheim had gotten used to, it was rain. He sighed and watched the downpour from his office window. A stack of papers sat on his desk. It was everything the GCPD had on Robin and on Batgirl since her reappearance after the big earthquake in Gotham. Manheim rubbed his sore eyes and took a sip of coffee. Something just didn't add up. The police had identified the body. Lynx didn't exactly fit the psychological profile of someone who'd be Batgirl. So if Lynx wasn't Batgirl then why did she have on that costume and where the hell was the real Batgirl?

"Somewhere close?" wondered Manheim aloud. There were too many questions and not enough answers. He took a folder from the stack on his desk. This one was the case file on the murder itself. He studied the coroner's report. Time of death: 11:30 p.m. Cause of death: two fatal puncture wounds in chest. There was more medical terminology following that but Manheim didn't exactly comprehend a lot of it. He left understanding that stuff to people with degrees and jobs that paid them to understand that stuff. What he _did_ understand, however, was that something wasn't right. The world just wasn't making sense. He knew he would have to take a look at the suit that they found. Maybe there was something they had missed.

XXXXX

Robin had a plan. It was a simple plan in theory but it wasn't as simple when one tried to execute it. He had managed to climb through an air duct on the roof of the GCPD storage warehouse. Using a detailed schematic of said ventilation system that he had "borrowed" from city records, Robin was now busy trying to deduce just which room the costume from the frame-up would be held in. This meant he was spending a large amount of time crawling through air ducts and wreaking havoc on his allergies.

"Should be it," whispered Robin to himself as he pulled out a small flashlight and used it to check the schematic in his hand. He was about to silently drop into the room when the door began to open.

"Bet you feel right at home in this weather, huh Manheim?" cracked the officer on duty as Manheim walked into the room. The detective simply rolled his eyes in response to the joke.

"Jenkins, I need to see the stuff for the Batgirl case," informed Manheim. Robin shifted in his position so he could attempt to hear more of what the two men were talking about. He needed to start familiarizing himself with whatever detective the GCPD had working on the case. Jenkins, a rookie who had only been with the department as long as Manheim, nodded and unlocked the metal gate in front of him. Robin tracked the two men with his ears, noting that they were about to be right under him before they finally stopped. He heard some shuffling, probably the detective looking around.

"This is it?" asked Manheim as Jenkins produced a plastic bag with two R-shaped throwing blades inside, "Where's the suit?" Jenkins checked the bin again and looked at Manheim. Robin sensed that this was not going to be a fun day.

"Hell," cursed Manheim. There had to be something important about that suit.

"Somebody must've taken it before it got here," said Jenkins, "Nobody's been in here since we dropped the stuff off." Manheim mumbled something under his breath that Robin couldn't hear. Both men asked themselves the same question. Had someone managed to break in and steal it?

"Lock this building down until we figure out what happened," ordered Manheim. He was formulating theories. The obvious guess was that Robin had taken it. But why just the suit? Why not all the evidence? No, obviousness was what the real thief was counting on. There was a chance it never even made it to this warehouse in the first place.

"Maybe somebody put it on eBay," suggested Jenkins. Manheim rolled his eyes again.

"I have to go talk with the coroner," stated Manheim, "Get Gordon or someone down here and tell them what happened." Robin knew it was time for him to leave. In less than an hour, this building would be crawling with cops and he didn't want to explain what he was doing in the ventilation system when they arrived.

With the costume idea a bust, Robin decided the coroner would have to be next on the list. He figured that someone from the League of Assassins must've slipped into the warehouse and taken it. That was likely since any good detective would realize the missing Kevlar and have doubts. But still, there must've been something about that suit that would've given the League away. Where could it have gone to? Maybe the coroner took it before it could ever get to the warehouse.

'_Worth a shot,'_ he silently decided as he climbed back through the ventilation system and made his way to the roof where he had come in. He needed to be tracking down Cass but he didn't seem to have the nerve for it. No, best to pretend as if this was just another case. Perhaps Cass wasn't the mastermind. Maybe it was all a coincidence that she had been there and that she somehow knew Shrike.

"You're a pretty lousy detective if you'll fall for that, Drake," stated Robin as he made his way onto the roof of the GCPD storage warehouse. He had left the bike in the garage this time. It was just him and his grappling cable for transportation now. He knew he'd head for the coroner's office next. He secured his line and swung through the streets of Gotham. The rain that had plagued the city throughout much of the day was quiet now. Tim wondered if this was the proverbial calm before the storm.

XXXXX

He knew it was coming. Shrike knelt before his employer and awaited the blows he knew would be delivered. He braced himself for the worst. A broken limb? A pound of flesh as payment for his failure?

"You didn't win," said Cassandra Cain as she stared at Shrike, phrasing it more like a statement than a question.

"No, Miss Cain," replied Shrike, "He left when the cops showed up."

"You didn't kill him?" asked Cassandra, "Cripple him?"

"No, Miss Cain," answered Shrike. Cassandra smirked. He had unknowingly done precisely what was required of him. Cassandra didn't want Tim damaged. That wouldn't do at all.

"Good," said Cassandra simply, "Leave." Shrike didn't look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth and rose, bowing to Cassandra and then departing.

"Mistress." Cassandra looked up to see a monk bow and enter the room. He was part of the Thuggee Cult. They worshipped Shiva as a goddess. Now that Cassandra had defeated Shiva twice and proved to them that she was Shiva's daughter, they worshipped her. She still wasn't comfortable with being a goddess but she figured it ran in the blood so she'd get used to it.

"Everything is ready," assured the man as he held up a canister with a sickly-green liquid inside, "This is it." Cassandra studied the canister. Ra's al Ghul once had a plan, a plan that involved cleansing the world and leaving alive only those he saw fit. As part of that plan, he created a network of satellites that still encircled the globe to this day. When the right time came and Ra's had wiped the Earth clean of all who were unworthy, the satellites were designed to release a chemical concoction into Earth's atmosphere. The air itself would be filled with the same life-sustaining chemicals used in Lazarus Pits, turning the whole planet into a veritable Eden. But Ra's also had to do one other thing first. He had to distill the chemicals, filtering out those that caused the temporary insanity that plagued those who used the pits. Unfortunately, the time for the satellites to do their job never occurred and, due to bouts of insanity from the Pits, Ra's was never able to complete the distilment process. Nyssa would continue it when she took her father's place, hoping that she could make the Lazarus Pits safer and thereby make herself stronger than her father. But Nyssa was dead now too and Cassandra Cain had taken over this research since she became leader only with a slight change. She would distill the chemicals but she was far more interested in the other end of the spectrum. The liquid inside the canister was pure, distilled madness, the end result of all that long work. It could turn the sanest person alive into a lunatic, a killer. If she were someone with grand ambitions, she could hold the entire world hostage. Cassandra had no such ambitions. She simply wanted everyone else to become what she had become: a killer with a killer's blood and a killer's soul.

"Make sure everything works," ordered Cassandra, "I must complete the final task." She wanted Tim to be here when the time came. She would make him an offer like in that gangster movie he liked. She would make him an offer that he couldn't refuse. It was a chance to strike back at the world for all it had done to her and to him. And why wouldn't he want that? Why wouldn't he want the chance to hurt the world that took away his parents, his girlfriend, everything he ever loved?

"We will kill everything," said Cassandra to herself, "Everything will die. Everything." Everyone she loved died in the end. Cassandra Cain was going to see that proclamation through to the bitter end.

XXXXX

The coroner's office was an incredibly dreary place and this was coming from someone who spent his time in caves of one sort or another. Robin figured it was the weather just getting on his nerves. A stormy, overcast day wasn't exactly a good day for a visit to the coroner. He was surprised it hadn't started raining again. That would complete the mood.

He couldn't really think of anything original for a plan to get into the coroner's office so Tim used the tried and true ventilation system method that had worked for him at the police warehouse.

"Story of my life," muttered Robin as he fought the maddening compulsion to sneeze, "Shuffling in shadows and crawling through vent systems." He muttered some other unintelligible grumblings as he looked through a vent and found out he was in the right room. He realized that he didn't exactly have an original method for this either. Perhaps it was best to favor reliability over originality.

Robin dropped into the room from the vent, scaring the coroner and almost guaranteeing the man a stay in that very same building. In two seconds, he had the man pinned against a wall and a hand over his mouth to silence him before he called for help.

"The body that came in here from the Batgirl case," began Robin in a low and menacing voice, "It had a costume on. Where's the suit?" He removed his hand so the man could speak.

"The police took it," pleaded the coroner. Robin wished Cass was here with him. She was a human lie-detector. She could produce results far quicker and far more accurately than any hunch or polygraph test. In that respect, she and Tim were exactly alike. Both of them were always hunting for the truth. He tried not to think about Cass anymore.

"The police never got it," replied Robin as his grip on the man's lab coat tightened, "You're lying." It was then that he felt something cold and metallic press against his temple.

"I didn't know birds were famous for their hearing," said Detective Manheim as he pressed his gun to Robin's head, "Where've you been getting that info, kid?" A dead silence filled the room, appropriate considering where they were. Robin recognized the man as the detective who had come into the evidence room earlier that day.

"Who sent you?" asked Robin, pretending to be ignorant of the man's identity and to see if he was actually working for the cops or if the League had paid him off. He asked Manheim the question but his eyes never left the coroner.

"Gotham's finest," assured Manheim, "I was wondering when I would get the chance to meet you. I hope you won't mind if I decide not to ask for your autograph."

"If you could make him unhand me, Officer, I'd greatly appreciate it," assured the coroner. Robin could take the detective down any number of ways but it was going to be a cold day in Hell before he let himself lose the coroner.

"You heard the man," said Manheim, "but stick around, Doc. I'm very interested to know about that costume too." Robin let the coroner go and eased back. In reciprocation, Manheim pulled back his gun.

"The girl was in a costume when they brought the body in," assured the coroner, "I took it off her when they brought her here and I gave it to the police. That's the last I saw of it."

"We have reason to believe it never even made it into the evidence locker," assured Manheim as he looked to Robin, "You've got all the Batman tricks, kid. Is he telling the truth?"

"Pretty sure," admitted Robin with a sigh. His lead was a bust and he was at square one with Cass out on the loose. This case was getting worse by the minute.

"We'll need an official statement," said Manheim as he turned to leave and motioned for Robin to join him.

"You're not going to arrest this maniac?" asked the coroner in disbelief.

"He just did my job for me," reminded Manheim, "I don't mind it when a prime suspect for a murder case cooperates by questioning the prime suspect in an obstruction case." Neither detective waited for more from the coroner as they stepped into the hallway.

"I'm Detective Adrian Manheim," said Manheim, "I'm working on the Batgirl case." Tim hated that phrasing. The cops didn't know the real "Batgirl case". They had no clue what kind of person Cass had been nor did they have a clue what she was like now. The person back there on a slab wasn't even close to being Batgirl.

"That wasn't Batgirl," assured Robin, "I know."

"Figures that the Bat's boy is a junior detective," replied Manheim, "So what's your end of the case turning up?"

"Trouble," replied Robin simply.

"The big ones always start out small," assured Manheim, "I'll check out the coroner and some of the cops that were on duty that night. You handle what you need to."

"Wait, you really think I'm innocent?" asked Robin in surprise. Relations with the police had been in the toilet for a while now and a year in Budapest wasn't exactly going to make everything magically disappear.

"Gordon vouches for you guys," stated Manheim, "Plus I'm a damn good detective if I can blow my own horn for a second. It doesn't take a genius to figure out there's more going on here than what it says in the case reports."

"There is," confirmed Robin, "Detective, have you ever had to bring in someone close to you?" He was still uneasy about the prospect of confronting Cass. He wasn't sure where the line was with her anymore.

"Do your job," replied Manheim simply, "Sometimes it's the only thing you can do. I'm gonna warn you, bird man. I _will_ do my job even if you _don't_."

"I'll do it," assured Robin coldly, "Doesn't mean I have to enjoy it." He turned to head for the stairs. There was no way he was going back through those vents. He figured he could find a bathroom and change clothes if he needed to avoid detection.

"Where's the real Batgirl?" asked Manheim. Tim didn't say anything. For all intents and purposes, the "real" Batgirl might as well be as dead as the imposter. Robin sighed heavily as he trudged up the stairs.

"They're going to have my badge for this," muttered Manheim as he turned and walked back to his car. The coroner was still a suspect. Somewhere there was a Batgirl costume floating around and Manheim wanted it. He wasn't going to stop until he found it.

XXXXX

The costume lead was a bust. This meant that the only available option was to track Cass down and confront her. Tim didn't exactly enjoy that idea. What would Cass be planning? It wasn't just a simple frame job done out of anger. If Cass was angry with him, he'd be dead by now. There was something else going on in her brain, something bigger.

"What would it be?" wondered Robin aloud as he stood on the roof of the coroner's office and thought. Truthfully, he didn't know what to think anymore. If you had asked him a week ago, he would've told you who Cassandra Cain was. Now he wasn't even completely sure he had known her at all.

"But I know the League of Assassins," said Robin to himself, "and she has to be somewhere in town." It was settled. He would check the computer and see if the League owned any property in the city and then search them all one by one. There was a crack of thunder in the distance. Another round of rain was coming up. Robin knew he should get indoors. A jag of lightning split the sky and he saw something that chilled his bones. Batgirl was skulking on a rooftop.

Robin's grappling line was out in seconds as he swung towards the girl. He knew it was Cass this time. He could tell by the way she moved.

"Take that mask off," ordered Robin as he landed in front of her, "and look me in the eye." The figure peeled back the mask and there was no mistake. It was Cassandra Cain.

"I kept just this one," explained Cassandra, "For memories."

"Stop it," said Robin coldly, "Whatever this big plan is, stop it now. You need help, Cass."

"I did," agreed Cassandra, "but everyone had left. Don't call me that name anymore, Tim. She's dead now." Robin stared the girl in the eyes as another crack of thunder punctuated her sentence.

"You're scared of me," stated Cassandra, "You always were. Everyone always was. I tried, Tim. I failed."

"So now you decide to throw everything away?" asked Robin, "You decide to mock us?"

"I am what my parents made me," replied Cassandra, "I have chosen to honor that." And therein was another ugly truth she had learned. Family was important and real family trumped fake family, even fake family that had acted more real than real family.

"While spitting in _our_ faces," snapped Robin as he drew his bo, "I'm taking you in, _Cass_. It can happen the easy way or the hard way but it'll happen in the end."

"Maybe," relented Cassandra as she pulled the cowl back over her face. Robin attacked quickly, smacking her in the side of the head before she could get her guard up. Batgirl backed away and blocked another shot to her head. He was trying to end this quickly. She would as well. Robin went low and struck her in the leg with his bo. He then flicked it upward, trying to catch her under the jaw with it. Batgirl grabbed the metal rod and moved it aside to give Robin a right cross and then a roundhouse kick. Robin blocked the kick with his bo, quickly angling it to jab her in the throat. Batgirl backed away and coughed as the pole hit the soft spot where her throat connected with her chest. That stupid stick was always in the way. She'd have to make him lose it before she could do any real damage.

"It doesn't have to be this way," assured Robin, "Just give yourself up." Batgirl could see that he was hurting inside. Did he . . .? Could he . . .? No. She shoved the thought from her mind and chopped at his bad knee, the one she had injured the previous night. The blow connected and Robin felt the knee buckle involuntarily. Batgirl gave it another hard kick before Robin went down in pain. He quickly rolled onto his back and kicked Batgirl in the gut with his good leg. He had to get back up. He flipped back to his feet and then almost went down again thanks to his knee. As he worried about that, Robin felt Batgirl's hands suddenly clamp around his throat like a vice.

"Go down," ordered Cassandra venomously as she locked Tim in a chokehold. Robin attempted to fight out of the hold but Batgirl was like a boa constrictor squeezing the air out of its prey. Tim felt his limbs begin to sway lifelessly like a rag doll's as his vision began to grow dark. The rain was falling now, hard and cold. He tried to get the cold to bring him back to reality but he wasn't getting enough air.

"Please," whispered Cassandra, "Go down." Robin felt himself slip into unconsciousness as he granted her request. For a few seconds, Cassandra didn't move. She just let the rain wash away the pain, dulling and numbing her emotions until she felt calm enough to act. That . . . that had been very hard for her to do.

"Good," whispered Cassandra as she checked his pulse. She was afraid she was going to have to choke the life right out of him to get him to stop fighting. She needed him to see. When he found out what she was planning, he would see everything clearly. He . . . he had to see that she was doing this for the best. He had to.

"Let's get out of the rain," said Cassandra as she put Tim's body over her shoulder and began making her way back to the League's hideout in Gotham. He would see. She was sure of it.


	4. Twilight

Shadowboxing (Part Four)

By TheLostMaximoff

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. However, I do enjoy writing about them instead of typing up papers and preparing for final exams. Hopefully you enjoy it enough to R/R.

There were moments when Adrian Manheim really hated his job. Some of those moments were painful and he cursed his job out of that pain. Some of those moments occurred when he became cynical and disillusioned about the world around him. Then some of those moments occurred when something completely stupid and absurd happened. Now was one of _those_ moments.

"Mr. Stephen Stype," said Manheim as the coroner opened the door of his apartment, "Congratulations, you've just been named a contestant of the 'Where the hell is the Batgirl suit?' contest." Two officers moved past Stype while Manheim flashed the man a search warrant.

"There's nothing to find in here," assured Stype as Manheim and the remaining officer moved into the apartment.

"Hope you're right," replied Manheim. The three officers began combing through the apartment. Manheim watched Stype begin to sweat. Stephen Stype was the product of a single-parent home; his father's to be exact. Unfortunately, Stephen's father never paid very much attention, if any, to his son. Eventually, Stephen liked being alone so much that he preferred it to the company of others. He became a workaholic at everything including his chosen profession of being a coroner. However, unbeknownst to anyone, because no one really knew Stype on a personal level, he had developed an unhealthy fixation on something . . . or rather someone.

"Don't touch that," ordered Stype as Officer Jenkins placed a hand on the doorknob that led to a closet.

"Touch that, Jenkins," ordered Manheim. Jenkins nodded and opened the closet door.

"This is rich," proclaimed Jenkins as he looked in the closet. The walls of the room were covered with photos and newspaper articles. All of them were dated after the big earthquake. All of them were about Batgirl. In the middle of the room, a costume hung on a rack. The entire room was a shrine to Stype's secret obsession: Batgirl.

"It's mine!" snapped Stype as Jenkins came out with the costume draped over one arm, "I paid enough money to get it."

"Mr. Stephen Stype is the lucky winner," announced Manheim as he began cuffing the man, "You've won the right to remain silent . . ."

"You can't do this to me!" snarled Stype as he lunged for Jenkins, "You want her for yourself. You can't railroad me after the money I paid you."

"He said ya got the right to be silent," replied Jenkins coldly. Manheim smirked while he was hidden behind Stype. This was going exactly as he had hoped.

"I don't care," said Stype as he struggled to get at Jenkins, "I'll kill you for this! You can't expect me to take the fall when I paid you to get that costume for me."

"Guy's insane," replied Jenkins as he looked to Manheim and the other two cops, "Seriously, you know I wouldn't do that. Look at him; he's got a freakin' Batgirl shrine in his closet. Guy's a lunatic."

"I paid you three hundred dollars to take it from the evidence room," stated Stype, "You said you'd be on duty that night so it was no problem for the right price. All I had to do in exchange was falsify the time of death in my report . . . and pay you the money of course."

"He's lying," said Jenkins nervously, "I'm telling you he's lying."

"Actually he's not," replied Manheim as one cop moved to cuff Jenkins while Manheim took the Batgirl suit from him, "but he does do a good summation if I must say so." The cop cuffed Jenkins while Manheim gave the man a grin.

"I got it from here," assured Manheim as he clapped Stype on the back, "Stephen Stype loves Batgirl . . . a lot. So when we wheeled in the chick, he wanted the suit she was wearing. It was a collector's item, would've fetched a nice price on eBay but he had more personal plans. Of course it was police property so Stype wasn't stupid enough to try and steal it himself but he knew someone would be stupid enough if he paid them the right amount."

"It's not true," denied Jenkins.

"Stype paid you three hundred dollars to steal the Batgirl suit," stated Manheim, "but you needed a little something extra. You wanted him to incriminate Robin even further."

"Damn costumes," muttered Jenkins as the officer led him away, "You can't trust 'em. They've made this whole damn town into a war zone where the only ones that die are real people like you 'n' me. None of them ever die, they just keep knockin' the shit outta each other day after day."

"We have some lovely door prizes for our runner-up," responded Manheim, "First is the right to remain silent. I'm sure you can fill in the rest of it." This didn't answer the main question. Someone framed Robin and it sure wasn't these two all by themselves. Manheim figured Jenkins was secretly working for someone but he didn't know who. Maybe Robin himself could solve _that_ mystery.

XXXXX

The smack in the face hurt but it managed to jumpstart something in Tim Drake's brain and rouse him back to consciousness.

"Ow," muttered Robin as he looked around. The room was very Oriental which he took to be Cassandra's doing. He looked at the walls, noticing the large collection of weapons. There was a desk in front of him at which sat Cassandra with a very large computer display behind her. Robin figured there were guards at the door. Shrike might also be somewhere not too far away. This was definitely not looking good for him.

"Nice decorum," said Robin, "Who's your designer, the leader of the Yakuza?"

"That's no way to treat a former partner," replied Cassandra although she smirked a little at him. She had missed his humor. It was always refreshing.

"Good word choice," agreed Robin, "So, this the part where you gloat? That doesn't seem like your style."

"I want to make you an offer," replied Cassandra simply as she steepled her figures and rested her arms on the desk, "Will you hear it?"

"Not much choice," replied Robin as he figured out what was keeping him in his seat. They had put his hands behind the back of the chair and then clamped them together with some high-tech manacles. He realized he didn't have his utility belt either.

"I know where you keep everything," said Cassandra as she saw his surprise and motioned to the belt on her desk along with most of Tim's lock-picking equipment that he usually kept on his person.

"What's the offer?" asked Robin.

"This computer is hooked to satellites," explained Cassandra, "They have a chemical in them that turns people into killers. It can do everyone on Earth all at one time. I want you to help me."

"Wait," said Robin as he tried to contain his laughter at the absurdity, "You frame me for your own murder to make me lose my credibility. You kick the crap out of me and then hold me hostage. Now you tell me that you want me to help you turn every man, woman, and child on the planet into a lunatic? Are you sure _you_ haven't already been affected by this chemical?"

"Don't mock me," snarled Cassandra suddenly as she glared at him with daggers in her eyes, uncharacteristically agitated, "Don't you dare do that!" Robin studied the girl in front of him. He had started carrying a couple extra picks that Cassandra didn't know about. Even now, he was silently attempting to break free with one of those picks. He had to keep her distracted and, God help him, he couldn't let her read him.

"Or what?" asked Robin, "You won't kill me. You would've done it already if you had the guts to."

"I thought you would help," explained Cassandra, "This world is ugly, Tim. It takes everything you love away from you and then it takes you too. Your parents, Stephanie, the few people I called friends. Doesn't it make you hate this world?"

"Conner," added Robin quietly. He knew that would hit something in her. Before Wonder Girl, Conner Kent had loved a different Cassie.

"Conner?" asked Cassandra, "He . . ."

"Yeah," replied Robin, seeing his normally stone-cold adversary suddenly on the verge of cracking, "He died defending the planet and gave everything he had for this world. So did Stephanie in her own way. Maybe _you_ enjoy spitting on graves but I sure as hell don't."

"You're lying," said Cassandra as she looked at Robin, "No . . . you're _not_ lying." Robin bit back the pain of watching perhaps one of his last friends become lost. He focused on picking the lock on the manacles and on keeping Cassandra emotionally off balance.

"Cass, you know this isn't right," pleaded Robin, "You know it in your heart that doing this will only make things worse. You used to want to make the world a better place. Why throw all that away now?"

"It will never get better," snapped Cassandra coldly, "Everyone dies. When I killed that man, I thought I had done a bad thing. I'm not bad; I'm just being myself. Nothing will get better. You'll just end up killing yourself if you try."

"Maybe so," relented Robin, "Maybe the world won't get any better but I can't stop trying." He knew this pain. So many nights after Stephanie's death and his father's death he would ask himself if he had chosen the right path. Was it worth it in the end? What was the price of making the world safe? Was it really worth losing everyone you loved? Tim Drake didn't have answers to those questions. He couldn't follow the right clues that would lead him to the solution. After Conner's death, he felt that he had been pushed over some line. He had to push back though. He couldn't let himself become this, couldn't let himself become consumed by the pain of life.

"I already have stopped," assured Cassandra as she turned and punched a few keys on the computer display, "It's started." A large digital clock appeared on the screen and began counting down. Cassandra turned back to Robin, the yellow bat symbol on the chest of her uniform now mocking him because she wore it with such dishonor.

"You're a disgrace," spat Robin distastefully, "You don't know what wearing that suit even means. You think because life gets tough and because your parents are killers that it gives you the excuse to become one too? Grow up, Cass, and stop being so stupid." A few more seconds and he'd be free. He knew that would touch the right nerve.

"Don't you dare!" snarled Cassandra as she suddenly leapt over her desk and grabbed Robin by the throat, "Don't you ever call me stupid! Don't ever!" Robin suddenly wondered if freedom was worth a crushed windpipe but in two seconds the cuffs were off. He brought up one hand and knocked Cassandra in the side of the head with the manacles.

"You want to be what your parents taught you to be?" asked Robin as he saw Cassandra trying to steady herself after the shot to the head, "I'll be what _mine_ taught me to be." He bit back the tears as he hit her in the head again. Thankfully, one more blow was all it took to knock her out. Robin grabbed his belt and the rest of his equipment and then checked the clock. Fifteen minutes till the end. That would be enough time.

"Of course there would be a password for the shutdown procedures," muttered Robin, cursing the learning curve of super-villains these days, "That would just make all kinds of sense." He then cursed himself for truly believing, for the first time, that Cassandra Cain was a real super-villain. He wondered if he could bypass the protocols. It was one thing to hack into police files that had little or no protection; it was quite another thing to hack into a heavily secure, world-wide network of satellites all in under fifteen minutes. Tim continued typing at the keyboard. He'd have to guess the password. He didn't think he could hack it in time.

"Voice-activated," muttered Robin as he quickly glanced back at Cassandra, "You really want to make my life miserable."

"I don't have much love for Miss Cain," hissed a voice, "but I've got even less love for you and you don't cut my checks." Robin felt the dagger press against his throat and ceased his typing. He knew Shrike was here somewhere.

"As long as I live, I'll never understand how you guys can be this stupid," replied Robin as he elbowed Shrike in the stomach and moved the dagger away from his throat. Tim kicked himself off of the computer terminal, walking upwards and then flipping backwards to end up behind Shrike. There was no time for this.

"I mean, hey, if you think you can crack that system better than me then go for it," said Robin as he kicked Shrike in the back, "Otherwise, how about I save the day?"

"I'll at least have the pleasure of killing you before the end of the world," assured Shrike as he slashed at Robin with his knives. Robin flipped in a back handspring to avoid the attacks and quickly kicked one knife from Shrike's grasp.

"I'll be back," assured Tim as he secured his grappling hook to a beam in the rafters and effectively zipped up and swung over Shrike to get to the computer, "Please, keep yourself entertained until then."

"You don't get off that easy," replied Shrike as one of his throwing knives sliced through the grappling cable while Robin was in mid-swing. Robin twisted his body to make sure he didn't land on his face and crashed onto the computer terminal.

"Ow . . . again," muttered Robin as he rolled off the terminal and onto the floor. That couldn't have been good for him or the computer system.

"That's the trouble with birds," jeered Shrike as he stalked towards his injured prey, "No matter what happens, they just won't shut the hell up." He kicked Tim in the ribs for good measure.

"You know what the trouble with hired assassins is?" asked Robin as he attempted to get back up and got hit in the ribs again.

"Enlighten me," sneered Shrike.

"They don't have any common sense," replied Tim as his fist came up between Shrike's legs to connect with the man's groin. Shrike doubled over in pain as Robin grabbed the man by the collar and pulled him downward, cracking Shrike's jaw on the computer terminal. Shrike went down with a groan and didn't get back up.

"Let's check the score," said Robin to himself, "I don't know the password, don't have the right voice even if I knew it, can't hack the system this fast, and my little tango probably screwed up the system anyways." He clicked a few keys and jerked his hand back to avoid a shock. He checked the clock and groaned. It was still going with ten minutes left.

"At least I set a new personal record before dying," mumbled Robin as he tried to figure out what he was going to do.

"It's always nice to do that," assured Cassandra. Robin turned to see that she was back on her feet.

"Shut this down," ordered Robin.

"Make me," shot back Cassandra as she took a fighting stance and readied herself. Robin stared back at the terminal. The fate of the world depended on Cassandra Cain talking. He would've laughed at the irony if he had the time to.

"Winner takes all," said Robin as he pulled out his bo. He was going to have to fight her in order to get her to stop the clock. More impossible than that, he was going to have to beat her.

"Winner takes all," agreed Cassandra with a grin.


	5. Fade to Black

Shadowboxing (Part Five)

By TheLostMaximoff

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Prepare yourselves for Mortal Kombat, Tim/Cass style. Be sure to leave reviews while placing your bets.

There was a clock ticking inside his head. Robin heard it and knew that it was synchronized with the clock on the computer, the clock that counted down the minutes until the world ended. If you had asked Timothy Drake what he wanted to do in his last moments of life, the answer would definitely not involve fighting Cassandra Cain. But then again, lots of things had happened in Tim's life that he never wanted to happen so one more shouldn't make that much difference. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Robin charged Cassandra, jabbing his bo towards her knee. Cassandra shook her head and sidestepped, taking her foot and pinning the bo to the ground while she hit Tim in the face. The foot that was holding down the bo suddenly lifted upwards, bringing the knee into Robin's stomach.

"You were never as good as me," assured Cassandra as she elbowed Tim in the back of the head, "Is this how you want to prove it?"

"You know I don't give up," reminded Robin as he let one of his R's fly at Cassandra. His opponent ducked, letting the whirling projectile strike the computer terminal. There were sparks and hissing sounds as the computer malfunctioned. Robin smirked but his little stunt hadn't stopped the clock yet. Tick, tock.

"Not in here," stated Cassandra as she tackled Robin through the doorway. Both combatants caught their breath before Cassandra kicked at Robin, pushing him back against the railing of the balcony they were on.

'_At least it's indoors,' _muttered Tim inwardly. Still, a fall from it wasn't going to feel good.

"You wanted to be so much like Batman," smirked Robin, "He'd be ashamed to see you now."

"He wasn't my father," retorted Cassandra as she came at Tim again, "Even though I wanted him to be." She knew what he was doing. Angry opponents make mistakes. If he couldn't physically beat her then he would try on his own terms. Unfortunately, it wasn't going to work.

"Trust me, he wouldn't try to anymore," assured Robin as he dodged the punch and hooked his bo under her arm and then behind her neck. Tim maneuvered the stick till Cassandra was hung up like a scarecrow with him behind her and holding onto both ends of the bo.

"You can't win," snarled Cassandra as she tried to get away. Robin rammed his knee into her back, eliciting a cry of pain from his former partner that hurt him far worse than she was hurting.

"Please," begged Robin, "Please help me end this." He kneed her in the back again.

"It will end soon," assured Cassandra through gritted teeth as she slipped her arms out of the lock and chopped both of Robin's knees. She added a kick in the stomach for good measure before rolling away.

"You're not even close to winning," assured Cassandra as she caught her breath, "You're running out of time." Robin knew it was true. The clock was still ticking and he was running out of gas faster than Cassandra was. She was too good. He had to do something to even the score.

"We'll see," replied Robin as he came at Cassandra again. Cassandra whirled sideways to avoid Tim's attack but she felt his hand grab the Batgirl cowl at the back of her costume and rip it away.

"What will that do?" asked Cassandra as Robin hopped up onto the balcony's rail and fingered the cowl and found the special lenses in the eyeholes. He hoped this would work.

"Come find out," dared Robin as Cassandra climbed up onto the railing with him. Both fighters secured their balance for a moment before Robin moved forward to strike with a slash from one of his R's. Cassandra executed a back handspring and kicked the weapon from Tim's grasp. She kept her balance and let a foot fly out towards Robin's face. Robin bent backwards to dodge the kick and then leaned forward as the same leg came back around at him again. He wobbled slightly but flicked something at Cassandra. By the time she realized what it was, the flash bomb had already gone off. That's why he grabbed her mask, to take away the protection of the lenses inside it.

"You're the best," stated Robin as he kicked Cassandra and caused her to fall onto the balcony floor, "but only when you can see what the opponent's doing."

"That's cheating," snapped Cassandra as she shook her head. Her vision had blobs of color in it that was making it difficult to read Robin's moves. She should've known he'd do something like this. It wasn't Robin's fighting skills that made him such a worthy opponent. It was the fact that his brain was so dangerous.

"All is fair in love and war," declared Robin, not admitting aloud that this was both. This wasn't just about him saving the world. It was about him saving the girl he loved from giving into the void. Cassandra swung at where Tim's voice was. They had taught her enough about fighting blind that she could still perform adequately. Robin ducked the blow and moved away, setting off another flash bomb.

"Stop this," said Robin as he kicked Cassandra twice in the leg and then once in the side of the head. Cassandra couldn't see anything but blobs of color and a giant glare as another flash bomb went off.

"No," replied Cassandra as her foot shot out and finally connected with Robin's jaw. The force of the blow made Robin spin on his heel before he collapsed to the floor. Cassandra knew she had an opportunity to finish this. She let her vision begin to clear until she could make out something that looked like Tim attempting to get back up. She kicked him in the head again.

"You can't kill me," said Robin as he rolled into a sitting position and tried to get back up with help from the railing.

"I can kill anyone," assured Cassandra coldly, "You can be the example." She kicked Tim in the chest and saw him writhe in agony.

"I dare you," said Robin defiantly, "Come and do it. You think you're so tough and heartless but I can't see it that way. Prove me wrong, Cass." Cassandra stared at him. He was broken and exhausted. Why was he still trying? Why not accept the inevitable like she had?

"Everybody dies," said Cassandra as she drew her hand back, "I didn't want this. I wanted you to be with me. You brought this on yourself." Robin stared at her. He knew what was coming. It was the same move she had used on that man when she was eight years old. He remembered the first time he ever saw that tape. He remembered wanting to kill her father for trying to turn her into that.

"Stop making . . . excuses," said Robin as he teetered on the brink of unconsciousness. Cassandra's arm was still poised for the attack but her body would not respond to her command to strike. She simply stood there, frozen by the fact that she was on the verge of killing the last person she loved.

"I knew it," said Robin before he passed out. Cassandra stared at him with a dumbfounded expression. She . . . she had hesitated. She had done the routine over and over again, practiced that one last shot until it was perfect. But now when the opportunity came . . . she hesitated.

"Everybody," whispered Cassandra as she stared around the room. Memories flickered through her mind, clouding her vision as her past became her present. She had killed before. Why not kill again? Wasn't this the life expected of her? She felt like she was being ripped in half. She had been taught to kill and, paradoxically, she had been taught to protect. She was a walking contradiction, a monument to two polar opposite ideals. She had a killer instinct but still enough compassion to care about people she'd never even met. It was too much for her to handle. She didn't know who she was supposed to be anymore.

"I was supposed to die," said Cassandra to herself as she remembered the fight with Mad Dog, "I was supposed to die." Wasn't that the real reason behind this glorious plan? Didn't she just want to die? Sure there was the supposed revenge on the world and sure there were some notions of justice in there too. But in reality, Cassandra Cain wanted to die because dying was better than living half a lie every single day of your life.

"Why did you try?" asked Cassandra as she looked at Robin, "Why did you love me?" She felt like crying. She kept staring at Tim and the more she stared at him the louder a little voice in her head got.

"We shouldn't be here," said Cassandra as she moved back into her office. The clock was still ticking. Less than a minute till the end of the world. There was still time. For so long, she had defined herself based on her past, on whose blood flowed inside her. First she had run from it then she had accepted it. Now, when it mattered most, Cassandra Cain just wanted to be herself instead of all the things everyone had taught her.

"I love you," said Cassandra as she stared at the clock.

"Voice code approved," replied the computer. The keyboard suddenly sparked from the damage it had sustained and the clock continued ticking.

"System error," declared the computer, "Cannot abort." Cassandra slammed the heel of her foot down onto the keyboard. She hit the machine with her fist. This was _her_ way, hitting something until it refused to get back up. She kicked the computer again and jumped back as something finally exploded. Sparks flew everywhere and the clock finally stopped.

"System malfunction," sputtered the computer before the screen blew out. Cassandra shielded herself from the debris and saw that the explosion had started a fire. She let it sink in for a moment. She had saved the world, the heartless and cruel world that she told herself she hated. Maybe Tim was right. Maybe she was just being stupid about this whole thing.

"Everybody dies," said Cassandra Cain as she grabbed Shrike's unconscious body and dragged it towards the door, "but nobody dies tonight." She understood it all now. She understood why Tim kept fighting.

"Thank you," said Cassandra as she slung Robin's body over one shoulder and Shrike's over the other. The fire continued raging as she carried both of them to safety, the proverbial angel on one shoulder and the demon on the other. She was no hero. She was no villain. All these things had been taught to her. But somewhere inside her, Cassandra Cain was a decent enough human being to see the value of life at long last. Nobody had to teach her that. That came on its own and she had ignored it for far too long.

"Nobody dies," coughed Cass as she carried the two men through the front door and out into the night. She coughed more and eventually collapsed onto the sidewalk, shrugging the burden from her sagging shoulders. There were sirens approaching.

"Sorry," whispered Cass as she grabbed one of Robin's grappling hooks and forced energy into her weary body. She fired the line and hooked it onto a building before zipping up into the night sky.

XXXXX

Robin coughed repeatedly as he opened his eyes and tried to get his body to move. He shook his head and coughed again as he staggered to his feet. Where was Cass? He heard a lot of sirens and yelling.

"Easy, kid," said Detective Manheim as he put a hand on Robin's shoulder to steady him, "You look like hell." Robin turned and saw the fire.

"Cass!" shouted Robin as he moved to go back inside. Manheim grabbed him and held him back.

"We haven't found anyone in there yet," assured Manheim, "You and that other guy, Shrike, are the only ones we've seen." Robin struggled against the detective's grip. Where was Cass? Had she gone back inside to die? Had he lost someone again?

"My partner could be in there!" snapped Robin as he turned to face Manheim.

"You go back in there and you'll die," assured Manheim, "Anybody who runs with you guys has to be tough. You think a fire could stop her?" Robin wearily sighed. His body was still aching from the fight. She couldn't have been in there. She had saved his life. Why go back and die?

"There's nothing you can do," assured Manheim, "You're a detective, kid. Use your head." Robin looked on at the inferno. Manheim was right. It would be suicide to go back in. If Cass was still in there she would've already been dead by now.

"You gonna arrest me now?" asked Robin.

"Nah," replied Manheim, "The coroner had the suit. He paid off one of our boys to take it and falsified the autopsy report in exchange. Between the bogus report and all the tampering with evidence, there's not much of a case against you."

"Any mention of the League of Assassins?" asked Robin.

"We're thinking our boy was working for someone," explained Manheim, "He'll get some weasely lawyer and get off on a technicality. Guarantee it. They the same people who started this bonfire?"

"Yeah," replied Robin bitterly as he watched the townhouse burn. Manheim studied the boy. It was scary to think what he had seen thanks to this lifestyle. The way Tim spoke and the way he carried himself almost made the detective believe that he had been on the job as long as Manheim himself.

"Who was she?" asked Manheim quietly. Robin turned to stare at the detective. What did it matter now? Even if Manheim knew the truth, Cass's records had been erased almost from the moment she had been born.

"Cassandra Cain," replied Robin, "She was always a hero. She just forgot it for a moment."

XXXXX

Tim Drake dragged his sore body through the door of his apartment. He vaguely realized that he would have to write up a case report and give it to Batman. He bit his lip as he thought about how to tell Bruce what had happened. He heaved and choked back a sob at the thought of mentioning that Cass could be dead.

"This is the life you wanted, Drake," said Robin bitterly as he stared at his reflection in the mirror, "I hope you're happy." The reflection didn't say anything in return. Robin took off his mask and unclipped his cape. The gadgets came next. It was his routine and Robin was a creature of habit. But lately, life had become anything but routine. He thought the year off had helped. He was looking forward to getting back to work. Now this had to happen. He had been so sure about everything for what felt like the first time in forever. Now he just felt like a man in the dark groping aimlessly for a light-switch.

"What?" asked Tim as he heard a noise that seemed out of place. His eyes flicked around the room as he turned in its direction. What else could happen tonight?

"Come out," ordered Tim as he saw something glint in the moonlight. Cassandra Cain obliged him, emerging from the shadows with a knife already drawn. Tim figured she must've taken it off Shrike's body before she left. He felt like killing himself. She had saved his life only to end it?

"No," assured Cass as she saw Tim reach for his bo. She turned the knife backwards and presented it to him handle-first, gesturing that he should take it.

"What?" asked Tim as he took the knife from her. She looked him dead in the eye. She had been so wrong to him, so wrong to everyone. She hated herself for that.

"I have dishonored my family," said Cassandra Cain as she touched the emblem of the Bat on her chest, "I have dishonored _this_ family. Please take repayment." Robin looked her in the eye again and knew what she wanted. She wanted him to kill her. If you had asked Tim Drake a year or so ago about his thoughts on killing villains, he wouldn't have given you a clear opinion. At that time, he was sick of the revolving-door policy and about notions of justice. If evil was willing to kill at a moment's notice then why should he continue playing by outdated rules? But that was a year ago and he had been full of sadness and frustration. Maybe the line between good and evil was getting fuzzier every day but he knew what was right and what was wrong.

"No," said Tim as he threw the knife away, "I won't cross that line . . . not even for you, Cass." She looked up at him from where she had pulled her eyes downward in shame and guilt and saw the same Tim Drake she had always seen. She had always admired his determination and now she felt like a complete failure when she compared herself to him.

"Why?" asked Cass as she fought the losing battle to hold back her tears.

"Because," replied Tim shakily, "Because, God help me, I still love you." She collapsed into his arms then, tightly embracing him and pouring out all the confused emotions inside her into heaving and shuddering sobs. Tim rested his cheek against her raven-colored hair and hugged her fiercely.

"I just . . .," sobbed Cass, "I just forgot . . . what to hold onto." Tim softly nuzzled his cheek against her hair and kept holding her, both of them crying. It was so easy to forget how human she was. It was so easy to think about her losing that humanity. But this night, both of them had learned what an easy thing humanity was to lose and how important it was to hold onto.

"I love you," whispered Tim quietly as he held her in the darkness of his room.

"I love you too," whispered back Cass. She leaned up and kissed him on the lips. He returned and for the first time in a long time everything was at peace for both of them. They both ended up collapsing together on his bed, settling comfortably next to each other.

"It's . . . it's been a long day," whispered Tim as he ran his fingers through Cass's hair.

"Yeah," agreed Cass quietly.

"I remember the first time I saw you in regular clothes," said Tim absently, "I thought you were so beautiful. You still are."

"I remember the first birthday you had with me," said Cass, "I didn't . . . I didn't know you that well but . . . I was happy for you." She felt her language problem resurfacing a little. She had tried hard over the year to get better about that but when she was stressed it came back. Right now, neither of them minded that.

"I remember Stephanie's funeral," continued Tim, "I remember staring across the room and looking into your eyes. It was like both of us were thinking the exact same thing and we knew it." Cass nodded sleepily and rested against him. She felt very tired now that her adrenaline was shutting down and fatigue was setting in.

"Cass?" asked Tim, "Who . . . who was your mother?"

"Shiva," replied Cass quietly, "My parents don't matter, Tim. Not anymore." Tim felt so happy in that moment as she snuggled closer to him. Cassandra Cain was not her father's child nor was she her mother's child. Cass was just Cass, the same Cass that he had always known her as. He felt her breathing deepen and found that she had quietly gone to sleep.

"Sweet dreams, Cass," whispered Tim as he kissed her on the head and then joined her in sleep.

XXXXX

Tim awoke the next morning as sunlight streamed through his open window. He expected to find Cass still wrapped in his arms but he found himself alone. The shower wasn't running. Had she gone to the main house? Had she gone to wherever else she could stay in the city? Tim looked over at his nightstand and saw a note. When he picked it up, he suddenly understood why he could never analyze the handwriting on the letter he got that brought him back to Gotham. Somewhere in the span of one year, Cassandra Cain had learned how to write. He sat up and began to read the note.

_Tim,_

_I can't write very good.I have to leave.I need to . . . I need to go find me.You know.I did bad things.I will always be sorry. Please wait for me . . . for me to come back.I swear I will._

_Love,_

_Cass_

"However long it takes," promised Tim quietly, "I'll wait forever for you, Cass."

(Author's Note): Epilogue is coming.


	6. New Dawn: Epilogue

Shadowboxing (Epilogue)

By TheLostMaximoff

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. This is the end, kids, so love it or hate it. I've really enjoyed working on this story. Hopefully you enjoyed reading it. R/R.

She had a routine. It was automatic, as involuntary as breathing. She couldn't remember when she learned it and the same could be said about a lot of things in her life. But Cassandra Cain was tired of learning and being taught how to live. So when she did the routine now, she just let her body move on its own.

For the past year, at least she thought it was a year, she had been traveling the world. She had contacts and influence, money that meant she could afford to disappear. Currently, she was living in an abandoned temple in the Tibetan Himalayas. It was quiet in the mountains, quiet enough to hear yourself think. She liked that. She began this day, just like the others since she had left Gotham, with a new routine. It was not her father's routine or her mother's routine or Batman's routine. It was _her_ routine, a series of motions she picked completely at random each and every day. The routine was letting her body flow naturally. The routine was in not having a routine, a set pattern of moves.

She often thought a lot while performing this new routine. With her body virtually operating on autopilot, her mind could reflect on things. She thought about her parents: David Cain and Sandra Woosan. She thought about her surrogate parents: Bruce Wayne and Barbara Gordon. She meditated upon her life and the choices she had made. A few times, she thought of Tim Drake and had the urge to return to Gotham. The urge, however, was immediately stifled and because of this reflex, Cass knew it wasn't the right time yet. When her inner self wanted her to return, it wouldn't fight. That was what she told herself.

This particular morning, Cassandra Cain did not think about anything. Her body simply flowed in an elegant and graceful dance as she moved through her "not a routine" as she had come to call it. She trusted her body now, trusted its impulses and desires. Her mind was clear today as she danced on through moves that she was aware of but she did not design until her body moved to do them. When her body felt like ending the dance, the first real thought of the day entered her consciousness.

"Not a kill," whispered Cass to the empty room. The voice echoed off the stone walls, reverberating back to her as if the outside world was affirming her statement. Many times during this morning "not a routine" she would use lethal force. If her body chose to do so then that was what she did. She often took the performance of these moves as signs, signs that she had not yet shed the yoke of her training and therefore she was not ready to return. But today . . . something different had happened today.

"No killing," said Cass as she smiled. She hadn't used a single lethal move throughout the entire dance. She had put herself completely on autopilot, tuned out everything so she could just be, and she hadn't executed one killing blow. She knew what it meant. You could teach people a lot of things but it didn't mean that was who they were inside. Cassandra Cain was not a killer in her heart and she knew this absolutely.

"I'm going home now," she said to the large statue at the end of the room, "Thank you for the space." She often spoke to the statue when she felt the need to talk. Truthfully, it was more an exercise in talking and listening to herself but having something to direct the words at helped. She bowed silently to the statue and went into the room where she slept. She put on her coat and filled her only bag with her meager belongings. She was going home now because it felt right in her heart. She felt like herself and for the first time in perhaps her whole life she finally knew with absolute certainty who she really was. She just hoped there was still a family to come home to.

XXXXX

He had reached the point in his life where he thought it best if he didn't think about Cassandra Cain. It had been over a year since Tim Drake last saw her. He had never doubted her return but he had doubts about how he should react to it. By now, it was no secret to any of the family what Cass had done. Like any family, their opinions on the matter varied greatly. Bruce, as always, had been the loudest voice of displeasure, taking the news the way any father would react if their teenage daughter had committed some "unforgivable" sin. Dick was more sympathetic, having briefly danced on the shady side of things before and knowing that support was what Tim needed. Barbara had been somewhat neutral, discomforted and slightly angry but choosing not to voice it as often. However, while the family disagreed about Cass's actions they all had come to agree on one thing. Cassandra Cain needed an identity and she was the only person who could find it. Once she had settled that, the rest of them would deal accordingly.

Unfortunately, Tim didn't mention to the others the part where he and Cass had confessed their love for one another. After all, it was neither integral to his case report nor was it the best of times to mention his romantic attraction to what could possibly end up being a super-villain. Once again, he would probably get some brotherly sympathy from Dick but not so much approval from the rest of the family. Plus he knew that this lifestyle wasn't conducive to a healthy love life and Tim himself was so nervous about it that he never felt the need to mention it to anyone. It never stopped him from longing to see her and hold her in his arms again. He had made a promise that he would wait. For over a year, Tim Drake had relearned how hard keeping promises was sometimes. That was why he chose not to think about her. Unfortunately, Tim's brain had the proverbial mind of its own and the more he attempted to forget, the more his mind made him remember.

He certainly wasn't thinking about her as he ducked behind a stack of crates. There was a series of pops as the bullets from the Colt .45 hit the wall behind him. Riddler was at it again. Tim had already forgotten what exactly the master plan was this time. Maybe there wasn't one this time and that was the answer to the riddle.

"Question," muttered Robin to himself as he let one of his R's fly out and connect with Riddler's gun, "When is a Robin bored out of his skull?" He didn't bother answering his own riddle as he leapt from his hiding place. The three goons Riddler had hired met him before he could jump the Puzzle Prince. Robin ducked the incoming punch and hit the man in the stomach. The other two struck from each side and were blocked easily enough. One received Tim's bo across his head while the other got a kick in the jaw. He was losing his main concern. Sloppy on his part. He knocked the third goon out and moved towards where Riddler had run off to. He was probably trying to slip out the back of the warehouse.

As Robin approached, there was a thud and a clatter. He looked into the fading shadows but couldn't see anything until someone came out. That someone also happened to be dragging Riddler's unconscious body with her.

"I hate riddles," stated Cassandra Cain as she let go of Riddler and smiled at Tim in the pre-dawn light, "Hey." Robin stood there dumbfounded. There were a million different things he could say to her but only one seemed the most appropriate.

"Hey," replied Robin as he approached her, "How . . . how've you been?"

"Like myself," said Cass with another smile, "It . . . it's good to be home." She had no clue what to say. Both of them knew that she had done something very wrong. She had betrayed her family. They had trusted her and loved her and she had betrayed them. But in the end, they were still family and that was what mattered the most. In the end, she had found the road back home.

"I waited," said Robin.

"Thank you," said Cass as she kissed him. No matter how old he lived to be, Tim Drake would never forget the way Cassandra Cain kissed. It was like the kiss was the only thing in her mind that mattered at that moment. Everything else in the world melted away when she kissed him.

"We should get this cleaned up," said Robin as they separated and he gestured to the Riddler, "You wanna come back to my place for breakfast?" Cass smiled and shook her head at Tim.

"Why?" asked Cass, "Why do you still care so much?" She had expected him to be bitter or hurt or distrusting of her. But if he was any of those things towards her then he wouldn't be himself. That just wasn't who Tim Drake was.

"I know who you are," replied Tim simply, "You're the same person I used to fight over the remote with. You're the same person who used to sneak into my place and eat all my Rice Krispies, which I have a new box of by the way. You're the same person who used to let me ramble on about my crappy life even though I had no right to complain to you. You're still Cass and I still love you. Nothing changes that."

"I'm so sorry for . . . everything," apologized Cass.

"You're still that too," said Robin with a grin, "The family doesn't exactly like what you did. I don't care because they'll have to put up with you anyway."

"You . . . you still want me for a partner?" asked Cass in surprise.

"Always," replied Robin as he knelt down and began tying up Riddler, "and possibly more than that if you're willing." Cass blushed and shyly nodded. She should've already known he would forgive her. After all, he was Tim Drake.

"I think . . . I think I'd like breakfast," said Cass as she moved to help Robin with his work. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"So where've you been all this time?" asked Tim, blushing as he finished his task and stood up.

"In the dark," replied Cass as she suddenly held his hand, "but I think . . . I think I found the light now." Tim smiled and gripped her hand. Dawn was breaking outside as the sun peeked up over the horizon. The day was young and so were they even though they had long ago abandoned being kids. But the one thing they couldn't stop being was who they were inside. It had taken them a few long years to figure that out, a few long years of groping in the darkness and dancing with the shadows that haunted them. Now it was time to step out into the sunlight and let the darkness and the shadows fade away.


End file.
